A Reason to Believe (9 page)

mind and he flinched. “As if I could.”

Kiernan studied him, the smile fading. “You

found her, didn’t you?”

Matt’s eyes lifted. After a hesitation, he nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Kiernan murmured. “No one should

have to carry that image around in their head.”

For some reason, the softly spoken words made

Matt’s throat feel tight. “It’s my job.” His voice

sounded gruff.

Kiernan’s gaze remained steady. “In the same

way talking to them, after, is mine.” He looked

thoughtful. “You know, I’ve worked with police

departments before on missing person cases.”

“I’d heard.”

“It’s really helpful if I can visit the scene of the

crime. I can pick up a lot of information. Residual

emotion, lingering attachment. I’d be willing to bet

she would come through more clearly in her own

home.”

Matt studied the earnest face. “What makes you

think so?”

“Children almost always remain where they feel

the safest. Even though the murder took place in the

basement, Abby is going to linger close to home,

near her parents, and her bedroom, her toys. It’s an

environment

where

she

feels

the

most

comfortable.”

Matt chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I

don’t know if I can swing it. How long are you

going to be in town?”

Kiernan sat back, his arms spreading along the

back of the sofa. “We have tickets to leave for

L.A. on Friday morning.”

It was Wednesday night. He’d have to work fast.

“If I’m able to find a way to get you inside of the

Reynolds’ house, is there a time that would be

better for you?”

“Evening,” Kiernan answered promptly. “I’m

done by three tomorrow, and I don’t have any more

private sessions scheduled.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.” Matt stood and

Kiernan did as well. Once again, the difference in

their statures made Matt feel large and clumsy. He

thrust his hand toward the other man in an abrupt

gesture. Kiernan took it with an amused lift of one

brow.

“Well, it’s been…interesting,” Matt offered

awkwardly.

Kiernan’s grin was irrepressible. “I’ll just bet.”

“I’ll, um…be in touch.” Matt started to move

toward the door, stopped and looked back. “How?

Can I get in touch, I mean?” He felt himself blush,

but Kiernan merely crossed to a desk and opened a

drawer. He scribbled something quickly on a pad,

tore the page off and came back, his hand

extended.

“Here. The number to my cell. I don’t put that

one on my business card, but it’s the fastest way to

get ahold of me.”

“Thanks.” Matt folded the paper and slipped it

into his back pocket. “I’ll call you, either way.”

Kiernan’s eyes warmed. “I hope you will.”

Matt stared into the wide blue eyes, fairly

certain they were no longer talking about whether

or not they could get into Abby Reynolds’ house.

Unsure how that made him feel, he nodded and

turned toward the door.

“Oh, and Matt…”

Matt glanced back. Kiernan was watching him

with a half smile. “If you don’t want Abby hanging

around your bedroom, tell her.”

Matt frowned. “Tell her.”

“Yes. Tell her she doesn’t belong in your

bedroom, and she should go home. She’ll leave.”

His smile widened, eyes shining. “Trust me.”

Matt shook his head and left the suite. He had no

intention of having a conversation with a ghost in

his bedroom or anywhere else.

But when he came out of the bathroom an hour

later in his boxers, and the air in the room felt so

thick and charged that gooseflesh immediately rose

on his arms and chest, he changed his mind.

“Abby?” he whispered.

Silence answered him, but the drapes at the

window moved slightly and he knew the window

was closed. His heart rate increased.

“Abby, I want you to know I haven’t forgotten

about you, and I’m going to do everything I can to

help you.” He paused, listening. There was nothing

but silence, but he had never been more convinced

he wasn’t alone. “But you need to go home now,”

he went on carefully. “I need to sleep and, frankly,

knowing you’re watching me freaks me out a little

bit. So, I’d appreciate it if you would just…go on

home. I’ll see you soon. I promise.”

Almost instantly, the oppressive feeling in the

air disappeared.

Chapter Five

It was snowing heavily when Matt entered the

precinct the following morning, and he paused to

stomp the clinging sludge from his boots. Shaking

the damp flakes from his jacket, he ran a gloved

hand over his tightly curling hair, and it clung

wetly to the leather. He hated his hair. Brad had

always smiled, telling him he looked like a profile

on a Roman coin. Matt hadn’t particularly

appreciated the comparison.

He also wasn’t sure what his welcome would

be like at the station. He didn’t know what

Branson had told the other detectives, but thought it

might be something along the lines of “Bennett’s

lost his goddamned mind.”

The usual buzz of activity greeted him as he

opened the door, and the desk sergeant nodded at

him as he passed. Doorways were still draped

with tinsel garlands and walls were adorned with

cardboard cutout poinsettias.

One or two of the men present in the second

floor squad room glanced up and acknowledged

him, but there wasn’t any general show of

welcome. He didn’t expect it. Those sorts of

displays of camaraderie had ended after Brad’s

funeral. The only person who actually made and

held eye contact with him, and who lifted a hand in

greeting, was Ed Partridge. A veteran of twenty-

five years, he’d befriended Matt when he’d first

made detective.

“Hey, Matt,” he said warmly, leaning back in

his chair.

“Hey, Eddie.” Matt removed his gloves and

shoved them into his pocket. “How’s it going?”

The older man shrugged. “It’s going.” He sighed

heavily and tossed a pencil onto his desk blotter.

“Not much happening, really. Half the squad is out

on personal time, and the rest of us are still tied up

with the Reynolds case.”

Matt leaned his hip on Ed’s desk, trying to keep

the keen interest out of his expression. “Anything

new?”

Ed grimaced. “Not really. Just ADA Preston

foaming at the mouth for an indictment. He’s in

there reaming Branson right now.” He jerked his

head toward the back of the room.

The blinds on the wall of windows separating

Branson’s office from the squad room were half-

closed, but Matt could see a man in a dark suit

stalking back and forth, gesturing with his hands.

Branson was seated behind his desk, his face

impassive but his jaw hard.

“Why’s he after Branson?” Matt asked.

“Thinks we aren’t moving fast enough.

Apparently the media is all over the mayor, which

means the mayor is all over the DA. You know

how it is, shit runs downhill.”

“Yeah.” Matt picked up Ed’s abandoned pencil

and twirled it between his thumb and index finger.

“So,” he said at length, intentionally pitching his

voice lower, “got anything concrete yet?”

Ed glanced around the room casually. When he

answered, his voice was lower, too. “Autopsy is

back on the kid. It was—” he hesitated, chewing

his lower lip, “—surprising.”

“Surprising in what way?”

“No sexual assault.”

Their eyes met. “Really.” In most murders of

children, especially ones presented like Abby

Reynolds’, evidence of sexual abuse was almost

always present. For it not to be meant the murder

was about something else. Matt narrowed his eyes.

“She was virtually untouched in that respect,”

Ed went on quietly. “The blood on the nightgown

was from a scrape on her knee, which apparently

happened when she was dragged down the stairs.”

He paused. “There was something else. There was

Ketamine in her system.”

Matt stiffened. “Someone drugged her first?

Christ, do you suppose the perp planned to assault

her and got interrupted?”

“No idea. He might have just wanted to make

the whole thing easier. Slip the kid Ketamine, and

there’d be no struggle at all.”

“Do they know how it got into her system?”

“Powder, delivered orally.”

“He fed it to her?”

Ed’s lips formed a tight line. “Apparently.”

“Doesn’t that indicate a level of trust?” Matt

muttered. “So, someone she knows, then?”

“Not necessarily. You threaten a six-year-old

kid and tell them to eat or drink something, they’re

going to do it. There were remnants of cookies in

her stomach. Coroner thinks it was on the

frosting.”

Matt sighed. “I saw Branson on the tube last

night. He looks exhausted.”

“Media’s crawling all over him. I don’t like the

bastard, but I wouldn’t want to be him this week.”

“He did everything but say they’re looking at

Marc Reynolds.”

“You know the protocol. Eliminate the most

obvious suspects first.”

“Yeah, but are they eliminating him?”

Ed rolled his eyes toward Branson’s office.

“Some people,” he said, very softly, “seem more

convinced of his involvement than others.”

“Meaning Preston.” Matt looked back toward

the enclosed office. The ADA was still pacing,

and a raised voice could now be heard, even if

what was actually being said could not. Ed

shrugged, but his eyes spoke volumes. “Is there

anything concrete linking the father?”

“Not as far as I’m concerned. But you know

how much weight that carries around here.”

“Listen, Ed, I know I’m not officially on the

case anymore. I’ve been put on administrative

leave…”

“Really?” Ed’s expression was carefully bland.

“I thought you were on vacation.”

Matt huffed. “Yeah, right. Vacation. Anyway. If

I wanted to get into the house, is there a way I

might be able to do it?”

“You mean, the Reynolds house?” Ed leaned

forward then, pulling a report over in front of him

and pretending to read it. “Well, officially, since

you’re no longer on the case, I’d have to say you

couldn’t enter the premises under the auspices of

being part of this office.” He glanced over his

shoulder. “However, since the scene has been

cleared and returned to the family, it’s up to them

to decide who’s allowed admittance to their

home.”

“I should just knock on the door and ask them to

let me in?”

Ed’s lips pursed. “Well…I have it on pretty

good authority Mrs. Reynolds was very unhappy

you’d been removed from the case.”

“It’s news to me.”

“You didn’t think Branson was going to call and

tell you? Morales told me the missus was

extremely put out you were no longer involved.”

He gave Matt a pointed look. “She told Branson it

seemed to her you were the only one who actually

cared her child had been murdered. I think if you

knock on the door, she might invite you in for

coffee.”

Matt tossed Ed’s pencil onto the desk and

reached into his pocket for his gloves. “Thanks,

Ed. I owe you one.”

“Yeah, so next time we’re out, buy me a beer.”

“Will do.” Matt turned to walk away when he

felt Ed’s hand touch his arm.

“The evidence does not support the kid’s father

having done this,” Ed muttered. “But the DA’s

office is hot for an indictment, and he’s caught in

the crosshairs. I don’t like defense attorneys either,

but this isn’t right.”

Matt pulled his gloves on briskly. “I’ll see what

I can find out.”

“Good man.”

Just as Matt was nodding, the door to Branson’s

office burst open and Assistant District Attorney

Garrett Preston strode into the squad room, his

face flushed and his jaw hard.

Matt didn’t like Preston, he never had. With his

movie-star-handsome face and his thousand-dollar

suits, he seemed too much like someone from

central casting starring on a TV show. He also

wasn’t subtle in his inferences that cops weren’t

terribly bright, so there weren’t many on the force